We saw numbers of Indian tepees in this park, which
added to its touch of original wildness. We learned that they
belonged to the Winnebagoes of Maine, who came down to Plymouth
to take part in the pageant. The park was full of blueberry and
huckleberry bushes, and companies of the Indian boys and girls
were gathering the berries which were just beginning to ripen,
giving us a good idea of what the place must have been like
before the coming of the white man.
>From this place we followed a path along the shores of a stretch
of water known as "Billington sea." It is a lovely lake, that
had been blocked off from the ocean by a great terminal moraine
until "Town Brook set it free." There is a legend current here,
that a man who brought little credit but much trouble to the
Pilgrims by his acts of wantonness, was said to have reported
the discovery of a new sea; therefore "Billington's sea." His
sons seemed to be chips of the old block and caused the
colonists no end of worry and trouble by their recklessness. One
of them wandered away and became lost, causing great concern
among the Pilgrims. He is said to have climbed up into a high
tree from which he located his home and also discovered this
body of water.
But no matter who the discoverer may have been, it was enough
for us to know that we were treading Billington's path along the
shore near the water's edge, linking the New Plymouth with that
of three hundred years ago.
Here in this seeming wilderness, wandering upon those old trails
that in many places are all but obliterated, or vanishing
altogether, for a short way among their tangles of undergrowth,
you may still glimpse the wooded region of three centuries ago,
through the perspective of the ideas and ideals of the present
day. "Here we still look back in loving remembrance to that
magical little vessel that fought her way across a cruel wintry
sea," bearing those brave souls, whose faith and courage have
left us in possession of lessons that are priceless.
Anyone who has been in England when the hedgerows are in bloom
can readily imagine how the homesick hearts of the pilgrims,
after that first terrible winter, fraught with sickness and
death, longed for these lovely flowers. The time of the
Mayflower's blossoming has long been past, but in fancy our
thoughts go back to that early spring when the first bluebird
winged his way to Burial Hill, calling up memories of the
English robin, which this harbinger of spring resembles. It was
the Pilgrims who called him the blue robin.
We love to think, too, of the joyful discovery that one of the
Pilgrims must have had, when he stooped to pluck that first
flower of spring whose aromatic fragrance was wafted to him by
the balmy south wind. Perhaps it was John Alders who first
discovered this lovely flower while the bluebird warbled his
message of love and spring from a budding alder. No doubt he
carried it in triumph to Priscilla as a token of friendship.
Looking out over the land or the lovely bay that spread before
them, the Pilgrims, in spite of their toil and hardships, found
heart to send word to their friends in England that it was a
"fayere lande and bountiful." "So in the darkest times there
came days of brightness when all nature seemed to rejoice, and
the woods and fields were filled with gladness." When the time
came for the sailing of the Mayflower, not a person of all that
little band was willing to go back to the land they had left.
Longfellow has given us a picture of the departure in his
"Courtship of Miles Standish."
O strong hearts and true! Not one went back in the May
Flower!
No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this
ploughing!
Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the
vessel,
Much endeared to them all, as something living and
human;
Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in a
vision prophetic
Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plymouth
Said, "Let us pray!" and they prayed,
And thanked the Lord and took courage.
But let us return to the first trail of the Pilgrims that leads
to Burial Hill. "Here above the enterprise of the modern town
rises this hill, bearing the very presence of its founders,"
where you forget for a time the lure of the woods and sea as you
reverently pause to read the inscriptions on the mossy
headstones. The oldest marked grave is that of Governor
Bradford. It is an obelisk a little more than eight feet in
height. On the north side is a Hebrew sentence said to signify,
Jehovah is our help. Under this stone rests the ashes of William
Bradford, a zealous Puritan and sincere Christian; Governor of
Plymouth Colony from April, 1621, to 1657 (the year he died,
aged 69), except five years which he declined. "Qua patres
difficillime adepti sunt, nolite turpiter relinquare." Which
means, What our fathers with so much difficulty secured, do not
basely relinquish."
Then we see the monument of his son, an Indian fighter. The
epitaph reads like this:
Here lies the body of ye honorable Major Wm. Bradford, who
expired Feb. ye 20th 1703-4, aged 79 years.
He lived long but still was doing good
And in this country's service lost much blood;
After a life well spent he's now at rest,
His very name and memory is blest.
